John snorts out a faint laugh at crime against nature. Granted, he thinks he'd prefer Martin clean-shaven even if the alternative was more viable than it seems to be (it's less abrasive, for starters), but the hyperbole is dramatic enough that he's inclined to poke at it.

"I dunno," he muses, curling a soapy finger beneath Martin's chin and pretending to scrutinize him. "Might lend you an air of authority. Then you could really clamp down at the Archive. Remind us all who's in charge." He draws his hand back, smile widening. "Of course, we could probably engineer a similar impact by, oh... buying you a top hat, or something."

John looks back at the pile of suds atop Martin's head, and then bites back a guffaw as a ridiculous idea suddenly strikes him. "Here, I'll prove it," he says, lifting his hands to tease the amorphous blob into something vaguely hat-shaped. There really isn't enough for anything close to a proportional top hat, is the only problem, and he shortly amends, "Well, this might end up being more of a fascinator. But the point remains."